


are you mine

by sushihighroller



Category: Malcolm in the Middle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-30 00:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushihighroller/pseuds/sushihighroller
Summary: 'Lionel' appears in an elegant, curvy script over his forearm when he's five years old. He wonders for years if his soulmate could be anything like what his name represents. Then he meets the man.





	are you mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Soulmate au for Malcolm in the Middle that no one asked for. I've got a couple ideas for this pairing, and I'd like to explore what I've got in this fic a little bit more at some point. It fought me the whole time, and I tried to stay as true as I could to the characters, given the circumstances. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it. In theory, this is totally done now, and will not have anything added to it. I may go back and edit occasionally to improve some scenes.

The first thing Malcolm learns of his soulmate is his name. It appears slowly over the course of a week, lines looping lazily up to his wrist to form one contiguous word. The lines finally settle after a bath near the end of the week, his mother screeching for his father as elegant cursive script solidifies around the edges. He watches the eye dot itself and is suddenly hit by an overwhelming feeling of agony. Tears fill his eyes as an inescapable feeling of dread and misery fills his mind. Those feelings are punctuated by an undercurrent of intensity and longing that leaves him breathless.

And then, as soon as it happens, the feelings are gone.

His mother raises his arm to show his father, expressionless.

“Hal! What are we going to do!?” His father looks her sadly in the eyes.

“I don't know, Lois. We'll figure it out. We'll protect him.”

His mother tugs his shirt over his head as his father returns to the living room, pulls him close. She carries him to bed, tucks him in next to Reese. There's several heavy thudding sounds from the living room, and she stomps out of their room to investigate. He pulls his arms out of the sheets to look again at his mark.

The 'lion' in 'Lionel' looks so regal, so proud. He wonders if that's how his soulmate was going to be. Someone like a lion. Someone courageous and valiant. He mostly hopes that he won't be anything close to those emotions he felt the first time he looked at the name taking up all the space on his forearm. He falls asleep with the last “L” in “Lionel” pushed up against his nose.

 

When the other kids in his grade start picking on him for the name scrawled on his arm, he takes to wearing long-sleeved shirts. By now, only a few other kids have marks, and they're as much of a target as he is. It's also around this time that his teacher calls Hal and Lois to tell them that the school would like to give him an IQ test.

He scores 165 and joins the Krelboynes halfway through the school year. His brothers' envy and disdain earn him several black eyes, and a month of cleaning the house from top to bottom from his mother. His mark shimmers darkly on his arm. He never again feels that crushing sadness when his fingertips trace over 'Lionel' when his brothers' breathing even out at night. He doesn't feel anything at all.

 

Mrs. Miller goes on maternity leave shortly after her baby is born. It takes the school the whole summer to find a replacement. The Krelboynes seem very excited for the first day of school. Dabney and Kevin have even prepared gifts for their new teacher. Malcolm can't help but roll his eyes in the face of their anticipation. Sucking up to anyone has never been appealing to him. He pulls his sleeves down his arms to better cover his wrists, as is his habit, and follows them into their classroom.

Lloyd is quick to toss a sheaf of papers onto one of the contiguous desks.

“I've completed the research on our new teacher. If anyone's interested.” He watches as they scramble for the notes.

“Lionel Herkabe. Born July 8th, 1963. Parents; John and Ida. Notice anything?”

Malcolm shivers.

“He was a Krelboyne.” Stevie huffs.

“We won't have to talk down to him!” Kevin says in an excited rush.

“Finally! Someone who knows our pain!” Dabney says, relieved.

“Bentley Gifted High. Princeton. Harvard business. What's this guy doing teaching?” Malcolm asks, wary.

“Apparently there was some unpleasantness.”

“Here he comes! Here he comes!” John screams through his cupped hands.

Everyone is eager to put their gifts on Herkabe's desk as they rush to the front, and they quickly file back to their usual places. The door opens, then slams as their new teacher breezes into the classroom. He picks up a random gift without hesitation and proceeds to...analyze it. As one member of the group is torn down, they quickly realize that he's nothing like Mrs. Miller. Kevin gets eviscerated as the class realizes that Mr. Herkabe's objective is not to build them up like Mrs. Miller did.

“As you may or may not know, I was once one of you. A Krelboyne. And I'm sure I would have made the same, lame attempt to ingratiate myself to the soft-headed thickwit teaching my class. Oh, yes, I have been there. I have been, coddled and preened. 'Oh, you're a genius, you can do anything you set your mind to. It must be so easy being you.' Well, bullshit! All that gets you is an ex-wife and fourteen million dollars in debt. Now, I refuse to let you fall into the traps society has set for you. Playtime is over children. You've had a free ride so far. It's about time somebody motivated you, challenged you, tested your mental limits! Granted, I don't have a teaching certificate from a two-year community college like most of the people I was forced to say 'hello' to this morning in the teacher's lounge. But you know, I'm just going to try to muddle through with my double doctorate from Harvard.”

As soon as Malcolm looks up at Mr. Herkabe, he feels that same strange maelstrom of emotion he had felt all those years ago when his mark first appeared. Their eyes flit back and forth, partially making contact, while Malcolm burns with an intensity of feeling. He hadn't felt it in so long, he nearly thought it was a dream. Mr. Herkabe doesn't seem to react at all, and breaks eye contact first by dropping the stack of paper on their table, and retreats to his own desk. 

“This is a test!”

“Correct. You have twenty minutes.”

“But there are six essay questions!”

“I'm sorry; I thought this was the gifted class.” The look he gives them is very nearly scathing. His eyes wander the room, catching Mr. Herkabe's as he surveys his classroom; the pain and self-loathing he feels is staggering. He sighs and gets to writing.

Four days later, in trying to make a point to Herkabe, Malcolm pushes his classmates beyond their breaking points. It wasn't personal, at least not initially, and he hopes they don't take it that way. The burning in Mr. Herkabe's eyes only keep him awake at night. Malcolm wonders what he feels when their eyes meet.

 

The next few weeks pass uneventfully. Mr. Herkabe still torments them daily, but it's nothing like it was the first week. He gives them steadily more complex assignments to do, and insults them nearly constantly. Mr. Herkabe largely ignores him. Sometimes, Malcolm senses that he's being watched, but predictably, when he turns to look, Herkabe has already continued on with the lesson. That sensation of eyes on him continues for weeks, sometimes ramping up in frequency, but Mr. Herkabe always interacts with him dismissively.

It's slowly driving Malcolm mad.

He needs to force Mr. Herkabe to look at him, to fight with him, to acknowledge the fact that there is something between them, even if Malcolm can hardly comprehend it himself. He needs to get him to do more than just hand him back assignments and sneak glances at him. He can't say that he's come up with a plan, exactly, because he doesn't have one, but he has to talk to Herkabe, and he has to do it when no one's around.

His opportunity comes earlier than expected; the school lets out early due to a school spirit event later that day. Like every other day, everyone packs up and flees the classroom as soon as Mr. Herkabe dismisses them. Malcolm reluctantly gathers his things and turns as Stevie waits by the door.

“It's okay, Stevie. Go on without me. I just had some questions about this assignment. I'll be there in a minute.” Malcolm tries to sound calmer than he's feeling. He nearly drops one of his books and his sleeve slides up to reveal that last curly “L”.

Stevie eyes him worriedly. “If you're, sure, Malcolm.”

He does wheel around to leave though, and Malcolm turns back around the other way to see that Mr. Herkabe is still organizing his desk. He gets the sense that he's very aware of Malcolm still being in the classroom. He doesn't look up.

“Mr. Herkabe. I want to jump right into this, but I'm not really sure how to say it.” Malcolm can't say that he really expected any kind of reaction from him, and he doesn't get any. Herkabe continues to ignore him. Malcolm moves closer to his desk. It's really rather frustrating, and Malcolm is getting tired of it.

“Mr. Herkabe, I think we should talk about- um-”

He doesn't pause, or even acknowledge Malcolm nearly invading his space at all. Malcolm can faintly see the lines of stress in his face from where he's standing. Malcolm briefly considers before acting, but he can't say impulse control has ever been one of his strong suits. It feels like his arm moves of its own accord before everything on Mr. Herkabe's desk is on the floor. Paper scatters everywhere and both he and Herkabe startle when something heavy thuds to the ground.

Herkabe's eyes flash as he turns to look at Malcolm. The intensity of the gaze and the sheer force of annoyance from distinctly outside of himself has Malcolm flushed and breathless. Now that Malcolm has his attention, he's completely forgotten what he wanted it for.

“You should tell me what it is that you want before I give you detention.”

For one of the very few times in his life, Malcolm is entirely speechless. That overwhelming self-loathing fills his mind once again as he stares enchanted into Herkabe's hazel eyes. He does the only thing he has any wherewithal to do, and pulls the sleeve of his left arm up to his elbow. Herkabe's eyes flicker to his arm and Malcolm feels like he can finally breathe.

“Your name is on my arm.” It's huge and black and it's irrefutably Herkabe's flowing, cursive script. It's all over the tests and papers in his backpack.

“So it is. That's incredibly interesting, Malcolm. Now, if we're done here, I'd like it if you could put everything back on my desk, and leave.”

“But my name- It's on your arm too, isn't it?”

Herkabe walks past him toward the door. Instinctively, Malcolm grabs him as he goes by. He can't be the only one who feels that little thrum from the contact, even through layers of clothing. Herkabe struggles for a moment in his grip before he pulls free. Malcolm didn't think it would be possible for Herkabe to look even more annoyed, but somehow, he pulled it off.

“Can I just, see it?” Malcolm knows it's there; it can't not be. Herkabe's avoidant behavior is too obvious for it not to be. If there weren't something about him, he'd be treated as harshly as his classmates. Malcolm just doesn't get why he's resisting it so hard.

“Absolutely not! Do you know how old I was when your name showed up on my arm?” He doesn't, but given Herkabe's distress, he can guess. Catching his eyes is easier than it's ever been, and out of all the emotions Malcolm has ever felt secondhand, the longing seeping into his mind is the most insidious and pervasive. “I knew that when your name solidified, it was never something that could be feasible. You're a child, and while I'm okay with inflicting you with mental and emotional anguish, I will not abuse a child.”

He understands the reasoning, and on some level, is glad that for as horrible as Herkabe is, there are lines even he will not cross. But for reasons Malcolm doesn't quite understand, he can't let it go yet. He's never felt so convicted in his life. He needs to confirm it; needs to see it.

“Okay, okay. I understand. I get that it's unsettling, and I get the implications. But if you could just show me once, I'll never bring it up again. I swear.” He can't help the pleading note in his voice as his gaze locks on Herkabe's forearm.

Herkabe sighs. “Somehow, I don't quite believe you.”

They stand eyeing each other, emotions roiling, for a moment before Herkabe utters softly, “No.”

Malcolm moves before his brain catches up and throws himself bodily into Herkabe. They tumble backwards to the floor as Malcolm gets Herkabe's arm in a death grip. He yanks his shirt and jacket up his arm before Herkabe can react. His name, in its nearly chicken scratch font, spans the space from his elbow to his wrist. A rush of air passes near his ear, and he's suddenly thrown across the room. Malcolm sits up, holding his head, watching as Mr. Herkabe clambers to his feet, rage twisting across his face.

Herkabe crosses over to him in a second, eyes burning. Malcolm feels the briefest flash of fury before he's grabbed by his shirt and hauled to the door. He's slammed up against it before Herkabe leans in intimidatingly. His hair falls into his eyes. He opens his mouth like he's about to tear into him.

Malcolm is immobilized by two sets of swirling feelings; paralyzed by hostility and a tinge of...desire? His eyes flick to Herkabe's lips for a moment. He's struck by an idea, and it feels right. It feels like the thing that's been tugging him along this confrontational path for weeks. It feels like that pain he felt the first time he looked at his soulmark. For the second time today, he acts without thinking, and presses his lips against Mr. Herkabe's.

He has a couple of seconds to memorize it before Herkabe puts his hand on his chest, and he hears the twisting of the doorknob. He's forced out of the classroom before he can blink, and the door slams shut so hard it vibrates in its hinges.

 

Herkabe is never alone in a room with Malcolm after that. He tries to minimize the amount of contact he has with Malcolm at every turn. He barely interacts, and does his best not to look at him anymore. Malcolm hasn't approached him since the kiss, and Lionel hopes it's forgotten. He tries to ignore the chicken scratch name on his arm every time he showers. He may be a petty, envious, bitter person, but he's not a child molester.

Several months later, the school principal calls him into his office to discuss a new transfer student. His parents had wanted to put him in public school to socialize him. At least, that's the story the principal gave him when he asked. Refocusing on his own goals and ambitions, Lionel can recognize an opportunity when he sees it. He decides to mentor this kid into being the most incredible genius the world has ever seen. He's never had small or easy ambitions, and failure seems to be a theme in his life, but he refuses to stop trying. Maybe something he does will finally go right.

He introduces Barton to the class a couple Mondays later. He monologues, as he often does when he's worked up, about their new independent study curriculum, and he wonders idly how crazy introducing this kid might drive Malcolm. No. This isn't about Malcolm. This is about his own ego. Barton interrupts his speech a minute or two later, citing a bee outside the classroom. He can't even try to hide his dismay and annoyance as he scolds the kid. It runs off him like water off a duck's back, and the kid sits in his specially designated desk before class can resume.

Lionel dotes on Barton over the next few weeks. He gives him special assignments, keeps the other students from mentally draining him. He watches Malcolm every once in a while, telling himself that it's to see how much his attention on another student irritates him, but he's less successful with his self-talk these days. Since Malcolm had kissed him, he's found he can't turn off that immoral, irrational part of him that wants to just give in and push Malcolm down and put his-

No. He hopes that Malcolm is annoyed because he's not the smartest person in the room anymore. He hopes that Malcolm is becoming as terrible and bitter as he is. He dotes on the new kid and hopes that Malcolm confronts him again. He gives Barton to Malcolm as a tutor, under the guise of helping Malcolm in his worst subject. He hopes Malcolm can read his true intentions. He doesn't know what he hopes.

In the end, the confrontation never comes. Barton is pulled out of the school altogether, once it comes to light that Lionel has had a weird, unhealthy obsession with living vicariously through him. He'll admit that he was living through him a little. There was generosity in him too, though. He did want to make sure Brton was equipped to deal with people who would only tear him down out of jealousy, who would torment him due to his exceptional intelligence. Lionel wanted him to be better prepared for life in as much as other people would be there to try to discredit and invalidate his efforts.

He supposes all of it would have made more sense if he explicitly told the kid, but it's all over now. His dream of mentoring one of the most intelligent people in the world is over, and he tries his best to cope with another failed endeavor. It surprises him immensely when the rest of his students give him a framed photograph of him and Barton together. They seem to have picked up on how much this opportunity had meant to him. He has to admit that he was touched, to some degree, by their compassion. Malcolm explains that they photoshopped him in, but it doesn't matter to him.

He's overwhelmed as they pack up for the day and head out the door. He watches Malcolm out of the corner of his eye as he packs his things up. They're the only ones left, and for a moment their eyes lock. Lionel can swear he feels Malcolm's apprehension, his loathing, and for an even briefer moment, his thrill of excitement, before Malcolm turns away from him and walks out of the classroom. Lionel doesn't know if he's disappointed or relieved.

 

The next time they clash happens because he pressures Malcolm into competing at the academic octathalon. He wants to win. He wants to shove it in everyone else's faces, and the most effective way to do that is to get Malcolm on the team. He pushes Malcolm's friends into competing and it ends up being extremely easy to do. He suspects Malcolm's demon of a mother is more than partially behind it.

His nerves get the best of him and he freaks out a bit on the bus, telling them organic chemistry will be a major part of the competition. He threatens them into taking this more seriously, and studying things they're most deficient in. He can't help becoming enraged at their seeming lack of commitment. When they get there, he tries to smooth over the presenter, tries to make it a bit easier on his team. It doesn't take, and after Malcolm's smartass comment, he pulls him aside to try to convince him to take this seriously.

“You see those little freaks over there that you call friends? Now, they need to win here so they can get into one of the top colleges because that's the only way they're going to become successful enough so that people don't beat them up every day for the rest of their lives. Now, are you going to deny them that?”

Herkabe seems to know exactly which buttons to push, and Malcolm knows he can't let his friends down. He resents Herkabe for manipulating him for his friends. They side-eye each other, neither brave enough to look directly at each other. Malcolm agrees, if only to ensure his friends come out of this unscathed. There's a furious part of Malcolm that wants to take Herkabe and push him against a wall and- They break, and Herkabe goes off to do...whatever Herkabe does, while Malcolm confronts his friends. They seem unconcerned by cheating, and are dismayed when he suggests he doesn't want to.

He's not sure what to do, until one of the hotel staff comes up to him and really makes him think about his situation. He's convinced that the right thing to do, if he can't not cheat, is not participate, and calls his mother a few hours later. She sounds furious over the phone, and he resigns himself to punishment. It's while she's driving off with him, and he spies that hotel worker, that he realizes he's been manipulated again. Enraged, he tells his mother she can punish him later and runs back into the hotel.

He devises a scheme that makes sure everyone is going to pay for cheating. A part of him can't wait to see the look on Herkabe's face when he tears a win away from him. A part of him can't wait to see what he'll do. It's hours later when he gets to see the result of his actions. They're sitting beside each other, watching the competition, watching each team answer faster and faster, when Herkabe turns to him, furious.

“You gave everyone the test, didn't you?”

Malcolm just can't keep the smirk from his face. “In fingertip semifore, this means-”

“I know what it means!” Herkabe snaps vehemently as he rises to meet the MC.

Malcolm watches him go. He meant to needle Herkabe, remind him that while Herkabe has these great, misguided intentions, Malcolm can foil them. He's still caught up in the idea of a soulmate, that Herkabe might share the fundamental parts that make him himself. He just needs to make Herkabe see it. That they were made for each other.

He's fifteen, bordering on sixteen, and all he can think about, all he can dream about, is his soulmate. In his fantasies, Lionel is as messed up as he is in real life; degrading him, humiliating him. He's gotten around to thinking that maybe these traits, his and Herkabe's, are the fundamental parts of who they are. He debates confronting him again. Trying to tease another kiss out of him, but this time, much more deliberately.

After the debacle of a competition, on the bus ride back, Malcolm goes up to Herkabe's seat at the front of the bus and sits beside him. The jacket and too audible snoring are doing a terrible job at hiding Herkabe's awareness. Malcolm knows it's another avoidance tactic.

“You know, sir, this might have gone better if-”

Malcolm pauses as Herkabe's eyes slowly open on his. He's instantly caught in Herkabe's gravity. He sits nervously, hands on the edge of the seat.

“We could have won if I didn't push you so hard. Is that what you were going to say?”

Malcolm swallows, feeling the persistent self-hatred and annoyance rolling off of Herkabe. Emanating from his eyes.

“Something like that, sir.”

They stare at one another, Herkabe wanting, but not brave enough to dare, and Malcolm daring, but not brave enough to try. Herkabe shifts against the window, and Malcolm leans into his space. Everyone else seems to be asleep; it is nearly two in the morning, after all. It's a six hour bus ride to the competition and back.

Malcolm quietly clears his throat. Lionel experiences some discomfort when he hears it, and he can guess what Malcolm might be trying to get the courage to say.

A whisper, “Sir, I-”

He feels Malcolm's chest press up against his arm, and his morality wars within him. The last time Malcolm tried something was nearly two years ago. He's grown up a bit since then; peach fuzz and a deepening voice and all that. Lionel tries to be subtle about shifting away, moving Malcolm off him. 

“Why is it that you torment everyone else, but you won't look at me?”

Lionel doesn't believe he's that obtuse. Lionel believes he's trying to get a rise out of him. But he's done playing games with this whole soulmate thing. So, he gives him a straightforward answer.

“Because my name is on your arm? Isn't that what you've been wanting to hear for the last couple years?”

Malcolm chuckles softly, like he's in control of the way this whole situation is spiraling out. He pushes his head onto Lionel's arm, and he's weak enough for him, weak enough for his soulmate, to lean over and rub his head. Malcolm can see the last 'l' and 'm' of his name on Herkabe's arm as his suit jacket rides up Herkabe's arm.

“It's exactly what I've been waiting for, for the last couple years.” Malcolm confirms, looks at him coquettishly from underneath his lashes.

Lionel's instinct to kiss him right now eclipses all of the propriety he's been building up since the last time they shared a kiss. He fights himself, his own principles and his desires as Malcolm looks him dead in the eyes. He feels directly Malcolm own heady desire for him, Malcolm's fantasies of being sucked and taken by him-

He shifts to look out the window before it becomes too unbearable. Before it turns into something he'll regret. He feels Malcolm's eyes trained on him.

“You might be too scared, sir, but I know you're my soulmate, and I know you're going to give in.”

He doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge the words, and Malcolm shifts and leaves, goes to sit with Stevie or something, a couple rows back. Half an hour later, Malcolm's breath evens out with the rest of the kids on the bus, and Lionel can't shake the feeling of being tested, tormented. But he won't be found wanting. He won't fail again.

 

Lionel follows him into high school. He tells himself it's in order to torment the boy, that he deserves that dogged roughness and disdain he keeps trying to give him. He tries to ignore the fact that he hasn't so much as looked the boy in the eyes since that first month, with the kiss that haunts him in his dreams. He's an adult, bitter and formed into the life he's given himself, so he pushes down the feelings Malcolm gives him when he blackmails Malcolm into various deeds around the school.

It's not until the Booster Club that he really gets his chance to torment Malcolm. He starts by roping him into the group, determined to get something out of this, even if it isn't what he really covets. After he gets his check, he really is honest with Malcolm in that he doesn't care what happens after the money. He informs Malcolm that the Boosters were just as glad to be rid of him as he was of them and realizes after the fact that he may have made a mistake. As he realizes Malcolm reacts as he might, he tries to goad Malcolm into going toe to toe with the Boosters, just to see what he'll do.

He revels in how much he can needle Malcolm, not believing for a second that Malcolm couldn't actually show them a thing or two. Malcolm glowers at him with the expression he's been imagining for the last seven years, and marches out of his classroom. Lionel believes that Malcolm could give the Boosters a run for their money; he's just not entirely sure Malcolm is properly motivated enough to do it.

A week later, the Boosters have a meeting and he reads his fantasy novel behind his desk. He appears to listen with disinterest as Malcolm tells the rest of the Boosters about his effort to make their event not suck. He edges to Malcolm's desk after the meeting is over, tells him that he can't believe that's what happens when Malcolm actually tries. He has higher hopes for his soulmate; someone who made promises to deliver, but can't come through when it's needed.

He only means to motivate Malcolm, not inspire him to try to destroy the Boosters, but that's only a happy side effect. Several weeks pass as he watches the Boosters try to pull their event together. He has a glass or two of that wonderfully cheap Riesling, and goes to find Malcolm.

 

“Hello, Malc.” Herkabe looks somewhat tipsy when he approaches him during the event, his face and body language more relaxed than Malcolm has ever seen it.

“Malc?”

“Ah, forgive me. I'm feeling very odd tonight. What is it called, when you look around, and you are not filled with festering rage?”

“Being moderately happy?” Malcolm replies confusedly, eyebrows drawing together.

“That is it! I am moderately happy! I have brake pads, and enough left over for a side mirror, and now I find that there is a wine tasting booth with an incredibly underpriced Riesling, just twenty-five cents a glass. So, if you'll excuse me, I think I saw a slightly drunk Miss Bartlett, headed for the ladies room.” Herkabe leans in a bit too close for Malcolm's comfort and adjusts his tie, pulls him closer to get it as right as he feels it should be.

Their eyes meet, and he's transfixed by Herkabe's lips so close to his face, fees the heat radiating from Herkabe's body, before Herkabe releases him and looks over his shoulder. Herkabe leaves somewhat abruptly, Malcolm only hopes that it's not to pursue Ms. Bartlett, before he pulls himself together enough to proceed to the stage.

Malcolm pushes his feelings for Herkabe to the back of his mind as the auction is just about to begin. He steps up on the stage, and thinks he's going to embarrass the Boosters, prepares for their fury at his bitter betrayal. An hour later, and the Boosters several hundred dollars richer, he finds that they are more gracious than he is about their embarrassing moments. After meeting his mother, he goes to sit outside the auditorium in the hall, mulling over what makes him who he is.

Herkabe exits from the men's room, spots him, and sits beside him instantly. He staggers to the ground gracelessly. He says the words before he can prevent them from coming out.

“So, your auction not go so well?” Herkabe sounds ready to mock him, waiting for him to break down.

Malcolm runs his eyes over his face again barely looking him in the eyes, as is typical in their interactions.

“Not at all. It went really well. The Boosters won a couple thousand dollars to keep bringing mylar balloons to disadvantaged children everywhere.” And it looks like Malcolm glows with a sort of weird, ironic pride.

“And that bothers you because...?” Herkabe tries to pull that bitter, envious kid out of Malcolm. He doesn't rise to the bait.

“It doesn't bother me at all. I did something good for someone, for a whole group of people.”

“Yeah, well, I know that it does. I know that you're probably burning with some kind of bitter, insane rage and that you hate those people because you think they're kids who just want to throw parties and don't really have empathy.” Herkabe tries to train his eyes on Malcolm's face, a little too far gone for focusing on his expressions.

“That may have been the truth a couple hours ago, but the auction has really opened me up to the possibility that I can do good for people, even though I've got these weird hang ups. Even though my ego gets in the way sometimes.” He sounds so self-assured, that Herkabe can't help but to be taken in by his self-confidence.

He leans closer to Malcolm, caution to the wind. They've been alone for the last ten minutes, and someone is bound to come out and go to the bathroom soon. They look at each other in the eyes for a few moments, Herkabe's ever present longing and Malcolm's desire for him meeting in the middle. With alcohol coursing through his blood, he recognizes and ignores his usual inhibitions; he can't believe how daring he's being.

Malcolm looks at him coyly from under his eyelashes.

“We're soulmates, you know?” Herkabe slurs drunkenly, Riesling destroying all his filters.

“I should have kissed you more back then. When you came up to me on that bus. When you gave me that picture of Barton. I'm so touched.” Malcolm can't hide the shiver that runs through him at those words. He's been trying to get Herkabe to kiss him for the last few years, ever since he leaned up and got shoved out of the Krelboyne classroom all those years ago.

“Why are you saying that now?” Malcolm asks with no measure of patience.

“Because I realize now that we only cause each other pain, antagonizing each other all the time. If I had just given in, ignored my principles, my own hang ups, we could have been together.” Malcolm closes his eyes.

“And what about your principles now?” He has to ask.

“You know I was never really interested in Ms. Bartlett.”

Herkabe leans in enticingly, and Malcolm was never the one who tried to deny this, deny his soulmate. His breath smells strongly of alcohol, then their lips meet, and Malcolm can't think anymore. He presses his lips, his mouth, more insistently against Herkabe, against Lionel, and gets him to open up for him. Malcolm's tongue pushes gratefully inside and he sets about to sucking Lionel's tongue obscenely.

Lionel moans at the sensation of Malcolm's tongue against his. Their knees are touching, but Malcolm decides he wants more contact. He's starting to climb into Herkabe's lap when his eyes open, and he finds Herkabe watching him intently. They stare at each other, emotions swirling inside and between them before Herkabe tugs Malcolm into his lap and sucks at his neck.

Malcolm gasps gratefully as Herkabe's hands rub at his ass. Thy go up and over the waistband of his dress pants before dipping down to stroke his skin. Malcolm shudders against Lionel as he brushes the head of his cock.

“Oh, oh.” Someone can't help exclaiming as Malcolm starts to come undone under his mouth and hands.

Lionel attempts to stand them up and ambles down the hall to the corner, dragging Malcolm along with him. He's nearly eighteen, definitely old enough to consent, and Lionel tries to stop worrying. They round the corner and Malcolm takes the lead and tugs him along to an alcove a few feet down from the hallway they just left.

Malcolm pushes him up into it aggressively, forcing his tongue into Lionel's mouth. Sparks alight along Lionel's lips as he responds to Malcolm's aggressive affection. He leans back and enjoys this teenager taking what he wants from him; sucking on his tongue, sucking marks into his collarbone. Malcolm's fingers work on his belt, pulling and stripping away the last modicum of modesty Lionel has, and Malcolm pulls off his own belt and shoves down his pants to take them both in hand.

He's embarrassingly vocal as Malcolm jerks them off together. It's all that he's never dared to dream since Malcolm kissed him so long ago. It's all he can do to let Malcolm guide their first encounter, to keep himself from turning them around and shoving himself into Malcolm like he's been dreaming of for nearly a decade. He moans as Malcolm runs wet kisses down his neck.

“Mr. Herkabe...Lionel...” Their eyes catch again as Malcolm says his first name, a flood of emotions eking their way into him from Malcolm's soul. He feels that pervasive longing he's so often felt himself, that envy and bitterness with which he's so well acquainted and an unshakeable feeling of righteousness.

When he can't take it anymore, he brushes Malcolm's clumsy hand off, and sets his own pace. The breathy gasps of his name make him slow enough to wait for Malcolm to adjust to his pace. Still, he's not entirely sympathetic; he'd been pining for him after all these years, convinced that because they were soulmates, getting along might be easy.

Lionel wants to prove him wrong out of principle.

Malcolm comes almost violently, shaking apart against Lionel's body and the wall. Lionel is soon to follow. Watching Malcolm paint his hand in his come is enough to push him over the edge.

They shudder to the ground, holding themselves and each other together. Malcolm curls as small and as close as he possibly can to Lionel, nudging his nose up against his throat. For one of the few times in the last fifteen years, Lionel allows himself a smile and tugs Malcolm closer.

“So, I know I said I'd never ask again, but can I see it?” Malcolm looks up at him uncertainly, expecting to be mocked or degraded. Once again, Lionel finds himself on the side of being moderately happy, and shifts to indulge Malcolm.

He pulls his sleeve up and Malcolm stares fascinated. His handwriting is there, chicken scratch and all, on Lionel's forearm. He pulls up his own sleeve and shows off the elegant, curvy script on his own arm. Malcolm looks up as Lionel looks down, and he's rewarded with a rare, soft smile. His eyes close as Lionel leans down to kiss him gently.

They linger in the corridor longer than Lionel feels is safe, and before long, he's ushering Malcolm up off the ground and back into the auditorium.


End file.
